


New Aesthetic

by Liasgotohell



Category: OC - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-01 07:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8615071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liasgotohell/pseuds/Liasgotohell
Summary: Wyndon gets beaten up. Again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this and you know who I am, don't kill me.
> 
> P.S. If you see your name in the ship, STOP RIGHT HERE.

Lester is agitated that afternoon, his fingers trembling widly. He clenches his fist at the sight of Wyndon. He feels the unbearable tension between them, the horrid feeling of being betrayed.

"Lessie, I'm sorry." Wyndon chokes out, fresh tears springing to his eyes as Lester delicately places a band-aid at the scar directly on Wyndon's cheek. He tries to laugh it off, to push it all away. 

"I said I wouldn't pick fights anymore, I'm so, so sorry."

But Lester still keeps calm, keeps every ounce of decency and forgiveness in him. He can't bare the sight of Wyndon, splattered with blood and with a broken bone or muscle. He can't stand it whenever his lover cries. It always comes out broken and in whimpers, like Wyndon always told himself secretly that boys didn't cry at all, and that he shouldn't be crying for Lester's sake.

This same scene had played ages ago, Wyndon's heart thundering as Lester sobbed along with him, not knowing how to handle the disappointing situation wherein Wyndon would reside to rough physical contact whenever someone was being treated badly or disrespected. It was a young girl, as Wyndon had said. She had been cornered by two big, bulky men in a narrow and deserted alleyway. Wyndon had to initiate the fight, all the while sending signs to the girl to run as fast as she could while he kept the men's attention on him. Lester had scolded him, had hugged him and cried on his shoulder painfully, once he came home beaten to a pulp with a black eye, a strained leg, a broken rib and a wide, tired grin that had a tooth missing in it.

"No, no, it's okay." Lester coos, sweetly and softly, as he gently wipes away Wyndon's tears from his blurry and dark hazel eyes. His heart rips at the sound of Wyndon's chokes and moans in blatant pain and guilt, sees Wyndon's features distorted in a raw, depressing emotion. He caresses Wyndon's cherry-stained cheeks and murmurs whispers of assurance, never, not even once, breaking eye contact.

Wyndon tries his best to calm down. "It's _not_ okay, I'm so sorry… It h-hurts…"

Lester trails kisses from his forehead down to his nose, and pecks Wyndon's lips as another apology for having to be another cause of his stress and anxiety at the moment. He knows that Wyndon can't breathe properly, can't bring himself to smile.

Lester takes his head in his hands and cradles it comfortingly and soothingly, shushing Wyndon and flicking away the flowing tears with his thumb. Here Wyndon was, on the porcelain toilet in only his boxers, crying his eyes out and wetting Lester's shirt in the process, eyes with that unusual glint of sorrow and hands that gripped around his lover's waist ever so tightly. Lester felt his trust rebuild within himself for Wyndon. He felt it resonate in the tear in his heart, in the ache of his bones, and the thought of how Wyndon must be in such a devastating state of pain at the moment. A tear rolls down his cheek in empathy for his soulmate, the beating of his heart slow and fast, all at the same time.

Wyndon was so pretty and precious to Lester that it scarred his soul to even glance at him, still impossibly beautiful, even though beaten down and in one of his worst states.

"Don, we're going back to the bed, okay?" Lester whispers lightly, just like a falling feather. "We can't go back to bed if you're not gonna help me out and stand."

"I c-can't." Wyndon coughs and continues to release gut-wrenching cries. He holds Lester to him in a manner that punctuates his statement clearly and with every hint of desperation.

It makes Lester worry profusely, knowing that this surely wasn't how Wyndon acted most of the time, especially in pain. He would force it upon himself to do what was asked, not to honestly blubber out what he truly felt and knew.

"Please, Don, it's not that far." Lester pleads, hopeful and mostly convincing.

Wyndon meekly nods like a little child, holds onto the bathroom's sink and onto Lester's shoulder to keep his weight up. Lester opens the door widely. The scent of angel cologne and the cold wiff of air washes over them like a tidal wave.

Lester carries as much of Wyndon's weight as he can and nearly tumbles in the process. They drag each other helplessly along the wooden-floored and narrow hallway, until they reach their bedroom, with beige wallpaper that was peeling from the top, and a queen-sized bed fit just enough for the both of them. Lester lifts Wyndon up onto the mattress and watches him sink into it ever so slightly. He places the thick comforter over him and kisses his nose once more.

The action almost felt foreign to Lester, the thought registered in his head that Wyndon hated being "babied". He had experienced it before, when he had brushed Wyndon's fallen strands of hair and outlined the dark-haired man's cheekbones with his thumb. It had almost looked bilious to Wyndon, causing Lester to feel like he was being insensitive for a second, then later having stopped his actions subtly.

Wyndon yawns, yet another cough cuts it off, gurgly and wrecked. He merely shrugs it off.

"Do you still love me?" He asks, his tone execrable.

Lester frowns in disbelief, the creases between his eyebrows feeling deeper than usual, like they were digging into his skull. He sits on the bed beside Wyndon carefully. "What in the _world_ are you talking about?"

Wyndon pipes down, hides his wounded nose and lips underneath the comforter shyly. "I-I just guessed that…"

"Why would I love you any less just because you decide that you want to become a ~~super~~ hero?" Lester whispers to him, delicate and pure. "I can't just take away what I gave of my heart, Wyndon. Especially from you."

Wyndon's lip trembles. He sucks it underneath his front set of teeth, breathes gently through his nose, fastidious yet calm. Lester can feel it. He can feel how his lover is struggling not to tear up, not to cry again, because he can see the red in his eyes and the black in his heart. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry i'm only now being insecure because of my scars. I'm so sorry-"

"I love you." Lester sings, lowering the comforter judiciously as he sees tears spring from Wyndon's eyes, fresh as snow.

He cradles Wyndon's head once more, pressing his lips smoothly against his scratches and band aids. "I love your cheeks." Lester mumbles. He kisses Wyndon's scarred nose bridge, pecks his chapped and faded lips with a serene aura. "I love your features." He pats the tears away and trails kisses down his neck and onto his bruised torso, with identifiable purple patches and red scars that had stopped bleeding for a while now. "I love your body."

Then he sits up straight and smiles, seemingly contagious as Wyndon creates a grin of his own. "I love _you_ so much. You don't even know how beautiful you are."

"I love you too." Wyndon murmurs, stretching his arms open and letting Lester fall into a warm and promising embrace. "Please... please don't let me go."

Lester hums sweetly. " _ **Never**_."


End file.
